


Long Journey

by Cowardlykatz



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, No Kiss, Religion, Violence, completed story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 11:39:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7220854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cowardlykatz/pseuds/Cowardlykatz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A past life is one that many religions believe in. Some say a human can pass through the world of the living twice. Some also speak of soulmates. Ones who were destined to be together since the beginning of creation; no matter how many times they die. A person who dreams of a familiar place could also experience their past life. Even if kills them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Journey

**Author's Note:**

> Angst. Everyone needs a little angst in their life, especially when their "dying" to see it.

Pain. Heartbreak. Betrayal. 

Birth.

He remembers them as clearly as the broken blue sky. He tells himself that the sky is blue, that there are no other colors to be seen. No fractures in the glass. At night, when the sky isn’t a reminiscing sea of blue, his chest aches and bleeds. He cries out at the horrible pain that he goes through every night, memories of putting himself in danger, it leaves him torn apart like his clothes everyday. He hides it from the others, but marble stone can still crack.

When the pain subsides; he dreams of ornate castles of old. The fields of misery and melancholic beauty, curling fingers caressing his arms, sending shivers down his neck. How it calls out to him, pulling him on a string like a fragile puppet, courting him to dishonor. He understands that it was once real. Faded scrolls dictate that it was a century of rulers, bishops, and priests who speak for whatever Maker. Praying on heavy knees, pressing foreheads into cool gravel. Used to watch them mumble under chapped lips, strange words spill out onto the floor like wine, staining his mind into believing that he could one day rule it all. He holds a knife to the throats of the believers, hushing their voices and promising them a deed that will be done. 

A disembodied voice calls out to him from somewhere beyond the shadows of this hell like dream. A modulated voice that made him feel unbearably tired. It was relaxing. Like small drops of rain that lulled him into a sleep-like state. He couldn’t seem to find where the source of where it came from, it was like it didn’t exist at all. Wandering to and fro, there were no signs of life. It made him want to cry. His tears filled the room, the taste of salt poured into his mouth. Metallic and boiling water replaced the cool sea salt, his body felt like it was being pulled back. 

He found himself on the floor, unable to move. A glinting dagger of red stuck out of his chest, his hand clasped around the hilt, as if trying to get a hold of something, anything to keep him awake and feeling real. Cruel intentions led to deadly endeavors. 

“Tsuna.” That same voice called out, but it sounded weak and frail, as if trying to push back the tears. A figure sat down next to his body, placing gentle hands on his chest and behind his neck.  The pain was killing him slowly. Digging its way into the crevice of his chest, getting closer to his slowly-beating heart. He let out sharp intakes of breath, his hand shooting up at the blue sky. Was it always this blue? He questioned the plumes of smoke that curled from the sky and whispered deadly sins into his ears. It sounded like it was laughing, giggling and repeating the phrase "he broke a promise." He wheezed, gasped, and sobbed all at the same time. The figure shushed him, afraid of grabbing onto him and hurting him even more. 

“I love you, Tsuna.” The voice whispered, placing a light kiss on his forehead. Tsuna could feel himself fading in and out, eyes closing as the clock began to tick. He could vaguely point out a curly sideburn or two bouncing up and down, eyes a piercing onyx gem that gleamed behind the glass. His breathing wasn’t hitched, and the pain was beginning to subside. Is this what death felt like? Finding details you never notice and pointing them out to yourself, as if it could carry on into another life where this would repeat over and over.

“Don’t forget about me.”

***

Tsuna slowly wakes up, clutching at his shirt where his heart paced quickly, pounding in his head. His face was drenched in sweat, hair sticking to his skin and beads dripping onto his shirt. Blankets were thrown off his body in the night, a small pile formed on the ground by his orange slippers. He looked around at his surroundings, pointing out the many stacks of books from school that piled up on his desk, waiting to be done. The papers that were marked down with red, neat writing. A black fedora placed neatly on the arm of the desk chair, topped with a yellow linen cloth wrapped around it. For him, the hat felt out of place in his life, but he knew it so well. Who it belonged to and how it fit perfectly on their neatly, spiked up hair. 

The door creaked up, a tall man swept into the room, staring at Tsuna with fixed eyes. “Another nightmare, I presume?” His voice was husky, evident with a lack of peaceful sleep. Gliding over to the desk and placing the hat upon his head, he pulled the chair over to the side of the bed and sat down, the chair creaking under his weight. One leg crossed over the other, he placed a glass of orange juice on the nightstand, patiently waiting for the boy to sit up and drink it. To put aside the demons that ate at his heart. 

Tsuna felt like crying. Those dreams. Those visions of blood and salt that carried him into the night on a bed of broken glass. He knew. It wasn’t no mere dream. No, it was a past life. A life that he had once gone through, to kill a lover who would stand in his way of glory and fame. But he couldn't ever imagine killing the man who shaped Tsuna into the person he is today, who he was in the past.  The young teen wept with tears of joy, clinging onto the vest of the Hitman and burying his face into his orange shirt.

“I didn’t forget you.”


End file.
